World According to Cosmos Updates March 3, 2019

Note: I am taking a two week trip to Vietnam and will update my blog when I return with my reflections on my trip, updated publications etc.

Cosmic Dreams and Nightmares

I don't dream dreams.  I dream movies complete with action, music, food, smells everything.  In this one I had a vision of  a possible future. it was so vivid, almost as if I were watching the hearing take place.

Three stories

Dream Girl (true story)
General Zod (flash fiction
Sam Adams Vs. the Social Cleansing Board
Six Poems
Morphing Images from Hellish Nightmare
Endless Movie
Worlds within Worlds Lost in Hell
Rafting to Hell
Satanic Torture
Micro Stories

Don’t Go Jogging in the Middle of the Night
Don’t touch this button!
Don’t open the door
Don’t go to the theater tonight stay home with me
Don’t go to Dallas I have a bad feeling about the trip


Dream Girl
Cheating Death 100 Times
Guardian Angel
Medical Mystery
SLA Hit List

Dream Girl – A true Story – reprinted from Dreams and the Unexplainable
You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.

Author Unknown

The dreams started when I was a senior at Berkeley High School in 1974. About a month before I graduated, I fell asleep in a physics class after lunch and had the first dream:

A beautiful Asian woman was standing next to me, talking in a strange language. She was stunning—the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She was in her early twenties, with long black hair, and piercing black eyes. She had the look of royalty. She looked at me and then disappeared, beamed out of my dream like in Star Trek. I fell out of my chair screaming, “Who are you?” She did not answer.

About a month went by, and then I started having the dream repeatedly. Always the same pattern.

Early morning, she would stand next to me talking. I would ask who she was, and she would disappear. She was the most beautiful, alluring woman I had ever seen.

I was struck speechless every time I had the dream.

I had the dream every month during the eight years during which I went to college and served in the Peace Corps. In fact, when I joined the Peace Corps, I had to decide whether to go Korea or Thailand. The night before I had to submit my decision, I had the dream again and it made me sure that she was in Korea waiting for me.

After the Peace Corps, I still hadn’t met my dream woman. I got a job working for the U.S. Army as an instructor and stayed in Korea. I kept having the dream, until I had the very last one:
She was standing next to me, speaking to me in Korean, but I finally understood her. She said, “Don’t worry, we will be together soon.”

Why was that the last time I had the dream? Because the very next night, the girl in my dream got off the bus in front of me. She went on to the base with an acquaintance of mine, a fellow teacher, and they went to see a movie. I saw her and found the courage to speak with her.

We exchanged phone numbers and agreed to meet that weekend.

The next night, she was waiting for me as I entered the Army base to teach a class. She told me she was a college senior and she had something to tell me. I signed her on to the base and left her at the library to study while I taught, and then we went out for coffee after class. She told me she was madly in love with me, and that I was the man for her. I told her not to worry as I felt the same.

That weekend, we met Saturday and Sunday and hung out all day. On Sunday night, I proposed to her. It was only three days after we had met, but for me it felt like we had met eight years ago. I had been waiting all my life for her to walk out of my dreams and into my life, and here she was.

Her mother did not want her to marry a foreigner. One day, about a month after we met, she invited me to meet her parents. I brought a bottle of Jack Daniels for her father and drank the entire bottle with him. He approved of me, but her mother still had reservations. After a Buddhist priest told her my future wife and I were a perfect astrological combination, she agreed, and we planned our wedding.

The wedding was a media sensation in South Korea. My wife explained it to me years later. At the time, I was overwhelmed just by the fact that we were getting married and I didn’t fully understand how unusual this was. My wife was of the old royal clan, distant relatives to the former kings of Korea. In the clan’s history, only two people had ever married foreigners: my wife, and Rhee Syngman, who was the first President of South Korea. My father, who was a former Undersecretary of Labor, came out for the wedding, which fueled even more media interest. Our marriage defied the stereotypical Korean-foreign marriage where the women married some hapless GI just to escape poverty and immigrate to the U.S. We were the first foreign/Korean couple to get married at a Korean Army base. Over 1,000 people came to the wedding, and my father was interviewed on the morning news programs.

This all happened thirty-seven years ago, (45 years since the first dream) and I am still married to the girl in my dreams. Now in my dreams she watches over me when we are apart.
 
General Zod Conquers the World
SETI and the search for extraterrestrial life goes on overdrive when scientists report what appears to be radio and television broadcasts from a planet eight light years from earth, the same planet as the Vulcans came from in the Star Trek universe.  The programs show a world where dinosaur-like creatures are running the world and there appears to be a civil war.  Over the next six months, the world is transfixed watching the alien broadcasts which are translated in English via a supercomputer program.  In the broadcast, a nuclear war has occurred. The surviving party regains absolute control and announces the formation of the Galactic Empire.  General Zod is the First Emperor.  They have discovered Earth as well. The aliens launch a crash project to develop interstellar travel so they can come to earth and conquer the earth.

The revelations that there is an external threat to the planet causes the United Nations to get together with the help of the United States and Russia another space powers, they put together Space defense International organization and also invigorates efforts to make the UN a real Planetary government including finally conquering climate change.

But it was too late. General Zod’s son arrives to take over the earth. He makes a broadcast saying that they were liberating Earth in the name of the Galactic Empire and that resistance would be futile.

They land at the White House and when President Trump comes out to greet them,

General Zod cuts off his head, and then cuts off the heads of all the staffers as they come out White House. After an hour of unimaginable horrors, including mass rapes, blowing up the Pentagon and the CIA,  General Zod announces that he had taken over the world.

Life will continue as before as long as people behave and follow the rules they would be fine Resistance to the new empire will be met with instant death.  Life in the Empire is not a democracy. They would not tolerate Freedom of speech, and Freedom of Press, and Freedom of Assembly And the freedom to oppose the State. The state is everything.  As long as humans remember that they would be just fine. They took over the United States because it was the biggest country in the world. And that his forces will take over the rest of the world but in the next couple weeks. If people on earth accept the new order, their safety would be guaranteed. Companies would be taken over by Galactic Empire companies, and everybody would have to learn Galactic standard. Within one year older languages will be banned.
 
Sam Adams Vs. the Social Cleansing Board

the summons
Sam Adams was worried. He could not sleep. He got up at 4 am and wrote in his journal and tried to cope with the dread that was overwhelming him. He had received the summons yesterday that he was to report to the social cleansing board for a review on whether he would allow to continue to be on the automatic permit list or would be referred for final status determination. Sam was a retired Federal worker trying to live on dwindling savings.

Sam had Alzheimer’s and was rapidly depleting his life’s savings. Two years before he had been released from prison, one of millions of ex political prisoners. His crime? Authoring anti-government poems just before the beginning of the Christian States of America, right after the second civil war. Unfortunately for him and his millions of ex-prisoners, his side lost the war. He wanted to flee to the United Provinces and settle down in California but lacked money to move. And getting a job at his age, with Alzheimer’s and his political rating was proving difficult at best.

All of which added up to a 90 percent probability his last days were approaching.

Under the new rules imposed by the Christian republican party in the newly established Christian states, all citizens over the age of 18 were on the permitted list if they met all of the following criteria. He tried to think why he was being referred to the board. Perhaps it was because of the recent crackdown on social deviancy. Millions of homosexuals, transgenered people, atheists, drug users, alcoholics, and non-religious people had been rounded up and eliminated according to the rumors. Perhaps someone had fingered him as a possible deviant. He fit the stereotype, no children, known drug user, known alcohol user, suspect politically, atheist and now Alzheimer’s patient. And he was not racially pure having some black blood, some Asian blood and some Jewish blood. And he had married across the racial divide which was now illegal.

The story was that if you flipped and named names you would sometimes be spared for now, and if your info was correct, you could be rewarded. Of course, those whom you flipped were not too fortunate. That was probably the story or someone could have heard that he was an ex political prisoner, or simply that he had Alzheimer’s’.

He had no children. And he was a secret atheist and had been involved with the dissent movement and had spent five years as a political prisoner at the start of the Christian Revolution. He was determined to make a stand and denounce the whole rotten system before the board although that would probably seal his fate.

As an Alzheimer’s patient he could no longer work. His wife had died the year before while he was in prison after she had been deported to her native Korea. She left him some assets but he had little idea how to manage his finances and he was behind in his rent and had received an eviction notice which had probably triggered the visit by the social cleansing staff who recommend a final status determination. But it was just as likely he was on the list because someone flipped on him.

He also did not make it last time when they came for him at midnight. Always at midnight the story goes.

The soldiers came took him away from his wife and locked him up for two years. They deported his wife whom he heard had died shortly afterwards. He spend two years at hard labor in the dessert near Las Vegas and was released into Las Vegas.

Las Vegas was a different town now that the casinos had left town. All that was left were back office operations, and underground ***** and *** operations and underground casinos. It was a hot bed of political dissent and there was an underground railroad to California, which was not part of the Christian states. Sam had been preparing to leave which was a crime and perhaps that is why he was on the list.

The hearing would be at 10 am. He was meeting his lawyer at the hearing board but his lawyer was not too optimistic.
the Permit Criteria
The basic criteria for being on the permit list were:

For Males

Age 18 to age 70
White race
Married to a white woman with children
Must be either working, in school full time, serving in military duty, or working in prison if convicted of a crime.

Homelessness was not allowed. If unemployed and or homeless, would be referred to social cleansing department unless one had a relative who was willing to take care of your needs.

Since there were no pensions or social security anymore and no government provided health care, one must have sufficient assets through one’s work, or savings or through one’s relatives to provide for one ‘s needs. If not you would be sent to the social cleansing board for final status determination.

For Females

Same basic rules applied but if one were married, and had children one would be on the permitted list, if children are older, if spouse’s income is sufficient one would be on the list.
If single or divorced, and homeless one would also be subject to social cleansing unless one’s relatives would willing to sponsor you. Since there were no pensions or social security anymore and no government provided health care, one must have sufficient assets through one’s work, or savings or through one’s relatives to provide for one ‘s needs. If not you would be sent to the social cleansing board for final status determination.

For Aged People

Additional requirements for the age you were expected to take care of your basic needs through employment and savings and the help of relatives. If you were evicted for non-payment of rent, or judged to not have sufficient assets left to sustain your basic needs including medical care, you would be referred for final status determination.

For all people additional requirements applied.

****** deviancy, drug use, alcohol use, gambling, *** outside of marriage, homosexuality would result in immediate referral to the social cleansing board as all were banned conduct that could result in final termination.   Being a member of a prohibited religious class could also be grounds for referral as would a pattern of not attending Christian services. Finally, if one had been arrested for political crimes one would be marked forever.
<h2>Sam's Rating</h2>
One had a government social rating. Sam knew that his rating was a D meaning that the government would be watching him all the time, and it would be difficult to get a job. Only the A’s and B’s were guaranteed to be on the permit list.

To be a A you had be to a true believer, had to be white, had to attend church on a regular basis, and had to be employed naturally.

To be a B same thing but you could be a B if you were a minority, or had engaged in alcohol or drug use under the old rules.

C meant that there was something wrong with your background, you were an atheist, you were a minority etc.

D mean that you were a serious threat to the regime.

E meant that you would be terminated.

F met you were terminated as it met Failure to survive, and family members of F were also labeled F as they were usually terminated at the same time.

Being associated with banned political movements, including reading banned materials could also lead one to being referred to the social cleansing board as all were grounds for either termination or criminal prosecution if under the age of 70.

The board has three choices - granted temporary status extension, referral for termination, or referral to criminal prosecution.

The termination would be carried out quickly. There would be an optional funeral at your Church, then the execution through the method of your choice - firing squad, beheading, electric chair, or gas. The default was gas where you were put in a room with up to ten other people and put to sleep.

Afterwards your body would be cremated in an electricity generating plant with the ashes turned into fertilizer products. There were no burials allowed unless one was rich enough and connected enough to request a burial exception. Most people did not qualify.
the Hearing
The hearing started. The presiding Judge, Judge Miller was a stern face white man in his 70’s and a true believer. He was sent to Las Vegas to clean it up as Las Vegas was the wild west, a hot bed of dissent, illegal drug use, illegal prostitution and illegal casinos. It was also near several political prisons so many ex cons lived there.

The Judge was the chairman of the Nevada state committee that did not exist and was a senior official in the Federal committee that did not exist that brought together government, business and church leaders to coordinate government policies and that secretly ran the Christian States of America.

Probably a score of A thought Sam.

The judge announced that he had reviewed Sam’s file and was shocked that Sam had escaped final termination. He said that the previous board had erred in simply sending him to prison. He should have been eradicated as a social evil, as a cancer that needs to be removed from the pure body politics. Sam and his ilk sickened him. Sam was a free thinker, an atheist, a mix race mongrel, married to a non-white and was therefore guilty of crimes against the white race which was a crime. The Judge was determined to see justice done.

He asked Sam a series of questions. Sam’s answers sealed his fate.

Sam, what is your occupation?

None for now.

You realize that under the law you must be working, in service, in school or in prison?

I can’t find a job due to my age, my Alzheimer’s; and my political record.

That’s irrelevant. You are just a lousy atheist *******. You deserve no sympathy. And have none from me.

Are you white?

No, I am mixed race, part native, part Asian, part black.

I see you were married to a non-white and had no children. Good for you we would not want to see more mongrel children. Such children should be eliminated at birth in my opinion and will be starting next month when we begin enforcing the racial purity laws.

What was your crime? Let’s see reading prohibited writings, keeping a journal, publishing an anti-government blog, authoring anti-government poems and stories. You served two years at hard labor?

Yes

Do you still write?

Yes, everyday but I no longer publish on line.

Good. No one would want to read that trash anyway.

Do you go to church?

No

Do you believe in God?

No, I do not believe in an imaginary man in the sky.

One more anti-religious statement from you will result in an immediate ruling of termination.

Do you drink?

If I can find it yes

Do you gamble

Yes, when I can

Do you support the Christian Republican Party and the Christian States of America?

No, I do not.

Okay, I have enough for a ruling. Sam Adams, you are hereby sentence to termination. Tomorrow morning at 7 am you will be turned into electricity and fertilizer. Take him away.

Next please.

At midnight there was a knock at the door. A black man appeared and said he was a friend and he was being smuggled to California. Sam rejoiced and went with his new friend and reached SF in the morning, escaping death for the 23rd time in his life.

the End

Poetic Nightmares

Morphing Images from a Hellish Nightmare
Note: From a real nightmare End Note

I am in a room
Drinking at a party
And smoking ****

Watching people all around me

Change into hideous creatures
Monsters from the deepest depths of hell

Everyone in the room
Has been transformed except me

The Chief of them all
Wears a Trumpian mask

Complete with orange hair

Half human half pig

His deputy
Wears the face of Putin
But his body
Half human, half horse: if

The other creatures wear masks
Many of them wear
Green Pepe the alt-right
Symbolic frog masks

And have T-shirts
Bearing alt right slogans
And **** symbols

And as they prance about
They chant alt. Right slogans
And neo-**** chants

Jews will not Replace us

And the rest of these creatures
Are hideous ugly beasts
With only a vestige of humanity left

And these monsters are engaged
In all sorts of foul evil deeds
****** violence death

All around
And non-stop
violent drug-fueled ******

As these creatures
Half human half monsters
Half male, half female creatures

Snort coke, *******, speed
Smoke **** and drink ***** shots
Scotch, bourbon and beer

The Trumpian Pig leads the charge
Starts engaging in ****** with Putin
Who chases after people

Cutting off their heads with his sword
They turn on to their fellow creatures
****** and killing each other
and eating their fellow creatures

All night long

Then they attack me
Screaming

Jews will not replace us
And I wake up
Screaming

As the sun comes up
Just another nightmare

 
The Endless Movie

Watching the TV coverage
Of the great government shut down
Of 2018-2019

I am reminded of a movie
As I fall asleep
Listening to the TV

Blather on and on
About what it all means

Mr. Natural pops up
And screams

"It don’t mean s….

“Dude, the endless movie
Is about to begin”!

A middle-aged white man
Down on his proverbial luck
Just been fired

Replaced by a foreign worker
Or a robot

Or just fired
Because he was no longer
Deemed useful
To the masters of the universe

If he was lucky
He'd  be given a watch
And an IOU worthless pension

And the man wanders into a restaurant
Pulls out a gun

Eats his breakfast
After the official breakfast hour

Puts on a Pepe the green frog mask
Drops acid, Snorts speed
Drinks a shot of *****
And coffee smokes a joint

Snorts ******* for good measure
and smokes a cigarette

And walks outside
steals a bus at gun point
Filled with passengers

He tells them
They are hostages

And he puts on his vest
With the dead man switch
Next to the bomb

He announces
Via tweet

He is going to take the bus
To the proverbial *** of gold

Hidden deep in a cave
And when he got there

He would release the hostages
And disappear into the mine
And never be found again

And as the bus careens around the mountain
At 100 miles an hour
The dude sprouts out

Conspiracy after conspiracy theory
About Obama the Muslim communist

secret gay working with George Soros
the Jewish money people
in league with the shapeshifting lizards

and Mueller is one of them
they are all after him
because he knows the deal

And the passengers are transfixed
Half hoping, he would make it
Half hoping, he would be blown away

And as the bus careens out of control
With the wheels falling off

And the cliff looming ahead
You realize we are all doomed

 
Worlds Within Worlds Lost in Inner Space
A man woke up one day
Lost in inner space
Went so far down
The proverbial rabbit hole

That he did not know
Where he was
Nor what time it was
Nor when it was

As he stared out
At a bewildering world
A world lost in inner space
Deep down in his dreams

Filled with nightmarishly real
Monsters, demons and ghostly apparitions
He saw them and began running
Running running running

With the hell hounds behind him
Leading him to the edge
of the pits of hell itself

abandon all hope
ye who enter here
the sign read
above the entrance to the pit

and there was a devil standing there
armed with a clipboard
and a computer spreadsheet
Satan was the ultimate bureaucrat

Name barked the devil
Date of Birth ?
Date of Death?
Don’t know? That won’t do at all
Hmm

Car accident due to drunk driving
And you killed a child
Bad on you

But here in hell
The punishment fits the crime
And the devil laughed
Joined in by the hell hounds
And other nightmare creatures

A bell ran out
In the purple crystalline sky
And slowly the worlds receded
And he found himself alive

In his room
And vowed
That today
Was the day

He would quit drinking
Quit taking drugs
And quit chasing strange woman
And having wild libertine ***

He picked up the phone
It was Satan’s aid
Be careful what you vow
We are listening

If you fulfil your vows
You might find yourself
Escaping life in Hell
It is up to you to choose

And the man got dressed
Went to work
Thinking deep thoughts

And drove off a cliff
And back down the endless
Worlds within worlds
 
Satanic Torture

I find myself
In a dark room
Strapped to a bed

The light turns on
The large TV comes on

A smiling image
Of Satan fills the TV
He is dressed
In a conservative business suit

Looks like he came
Out of a corporate
board meeting

surrounded by demonic aides
who constantly shove papers
at him

He looks up from his lap top
And smiles
A deadly so insincere smile

His voice booms out

Welcome to Hell
My satanic slaves

I am Satan
Your new master

Each of you
Has been sentenced
To an eternity of torture

And the punishment
Must fit the crime

So, for you
Mr. Jake Cosmos Aller
Failed aspiring poet
And novelist

Your torture
Is to be strapped
To that bed

Unable to move
As you are filled
With the need
To **** and ****

But you cannot move
And your skin
Is crawling with bugs

And itchy
as Hell so to speak
and you are so sleepy

but you cannot sleep

the TV will play
endless repeats

Of some of the worst TV
and movie shows
ever produced

Starting with my favorite
A Series of Unfortunate Events

Featuring your favor annoying little girl
Carmetta! Singing for you forever
As you are the ultimate cake sniffer

Welcome to Hell
 

Rafting Towards Hell
I woke up
To find myself
Rafting down a river

I looked up
At the cliffs
Towering above
the roaring torrent

and see the dark demons
of my terrible nightmares
chasing the boat
firing flaming arrows

and I see werewolves
goblins, ghosts and monsters
running along the river bed
screaming obscenities

as they chase me
to my doom

and I see the waterfall ahead
and see my pending doom

as I rush over the edge
of reason



Micro Stories
53 word stories regarding unheeded warnings
Don’t Go Jogging in the Middle of the Night
It all started with a jog in the middle of the night. Despite my wife’s warning don’t go jogging in the middle of the night.  Broke me heal in a million pieces, 14 operations ensured, mutant MDR Staff almost killed me, almost lost the leg. . should have listened to her warning.

Don’t touch this button!
Don’t touch this button the former President said.  I said, what this button? And that led to the launching of nuclear weapons, going to defon three, and world war 3 with millions of people dead end of civilization moment. Should not have touched the red button.
Don’t open the door
When you find yourself running for your life chased by demons from hell and backed into a corner in a burning house filled with flames and are about to die in a million horrible ways you remembered that they warned you not to open door number three in this crazy reality TV show.
Don’t go to the theater tonight stay home with me
Mary Todd Lincoln had a vicious headache and was not in the mood to go out.  The President though ignored her wishes and told her that he had to go to the theater that night to show the world everything was okay now the war was ending.  Should have listened to her.
Don’t go to Dallas I have a bad feeling about the trip
Jackie was known for her moods and her premonitions. Something the President found both amusing an annoying. She told him that she a vision of death waiting for him in Dallas that day.  The President dismissed her foolishness as he put it and went to Dallas to meet his fate.
true love story.
In 1974 I had the first dream. While sleeping in a boring class, I saw a beautiful Asian woman standing at me speaking a foreign language. I fell out of chair yelling who are you?   I began having the same dream month after month for eight years.  One day I realized she was in Korea so I went there in the Peace Corps to meet her. In 1982 I had the last dream.  She said don’t worry we meet soon. That night she walked off a bus, out of the dream and into my life.  We’ve been married 37 years.
Cheating Death 22 Times
Also, a true story.
I have cheated death 22 times in my life.  I was born a preemie, almost died at birth, and had all the childhood illness at once.  In 1979 I came down with Typhoid  fever in Korea in the Peace Corps.  In 1991 almost got hit by a train. In 1996-1997 had 14 operations due to a mutant drug resistant staph infection, almost died several times.  In 1997 I had an acute stomach ailment that almost killed me, due to excessive antibiotic usage, if I had waited 30 minutes more would have been dead.  And had dengue in 2010.
Guardian Angel Saves My Life
Another true story
In 1990, I was teaching ESL in Korea.  My wife and I drove to the East Coast of Korea for a weekend away. She was in the US Army then.  As we drove towards Sorak mountain, I was filled with the need to get off the road right then. I had a premonition of doom, so did my wife. We got off to drive around another park returned a few minutes later and saw a 25 car pileup. We would have been dead if we had not listened to that inner voice telling us get off now.

Medical Mystery
Another true story
Back in 1996, when I was in the hospital fighting a mutant staph infection after a disastrous jogging accident that led to 14 operations, the internal medicine doctor said that there was something else going on. He finally discovered that I had a rare parasite, a tape worm of sorts that remained inert, its only becomes active if you take steroids then it blows up like a basketball killing you instantly. Six months later I had to take steroids due to frozen shoulder syndrome, and if I had not gotten rid of it, I would have died a medical mystery.

SLA Hit List
True story

Back in 1974 my father was a local politician in Berkeley, California who was on the SLA’***** list as “an enemy of the people, a fascist insect that needed to be killed”.  His crime?  As President of the community college district, he began requiring IDS for students and staff to combat campus crime at the local community colleges.  We had 24/7 police coverage for a while. One morning I saluted my father, “good morning fascist insect”.  My father, being of Germanic stock did not like the joke as jokes are alien to the German DNA.


the End

He was born defeated.
For eight months he sat at the delta to the world,
stargazing in amniotic fluid.
Sharing oxygen with another passing,
it back and forth like a gas mask in a chemical war.
how familiar he would become with the chemical war.
he did not propel into life the way everyone expected,
like the first, iron soldier to  dive
from a helicopter into the bush; all displaced rage
and camo flags waving behind him.
he was made to wait. made to drown just a little bit.
made to appear to the world a little blue.
no gas mask this time. just some weak lungs
and a bald head. not raven-dark and tumultuous like his six-minute predecessor,
but quiet, sullen and sentenced to a week in an incubator;
teaching him how to be alive.
maybe that was the first time he got mad. he more or less stayed mad for 17 years.
Found comfort in Peter Pan, a boy with no future- no past,
and juiced up men performing soap operas for a living;
sweating on their audience and quick to blow
a folding chair in to the enemies face.
The same pit-stomach drop of a terrible math grade,
And of realizing an idea if terrible halfway through completion-
Dazed at on knees at3am, half of the bedroom carpet ripped out
With a carving knife.
He beat up his other, left her trembling behind doors that didn't lock for years.
Full weight pressed against cheap wood, hoping this time it wouldn't open,
and leaving in the wake a girl-child, of 20 years-
terrified of testosterone and emotions.
There was the comfort in war movies; men with purpose, and the quirky
anime of a culture not his own.
Darker pagan books dotted pubescence. They sat like coffee mugs
filled with sludgy water, a place to dip paintbrushes in when it was time to start over.
Drugs come in folds. dealt like cards over the years- grappling for anything.
Their names ring out first like a memoir, then like a psych ward.
He would probably snort dirt if an escape from hardwood floored, leave spun
world in which he lived.
the place where dead batteries rolled around in for years in drawers and
tape never came off of wallpaper.
and the other one- the one who cut him off and turned
him blue at the very beginning; she's frozen too.
she stumbles through cities and ghettos and ancient worlds,
hoping to find something, anything that gives her a purpose.
Back to strong wind on 6th Avenue between classes,
Eyes sting and water against it but comforted by the smell of snow and
Bus exhaust. In that moment doing a good job. Being a trooper.
Swiping IDs that show a real, accounted for person underneath
The Goodwill feather-down coat and expensive Arabic textbook,
But in the quiet hours still grasping at straws,
at braids that don't quite work and flowers tangled
in hair that won't quite stay in place.
Singing with a voice a little too novice,
too rough. Looking dumb in sunglasses and boots.
She starts and quits things a lot.
gets exhausted. predisposed for enormous depression.
greek-tragady like.
****-yourself-to-spare-the-gods-your-being like.
finds glimpses of life in things, mainly when submerged in a daze of not-getting carded and  incense. Hair falls over pages of books, hanging one handed on an R to Queens,
or collecting cigarette butts from the side of the road
in the prairies of Dakota-land, helping kids collect enough tobacco
for their drunk fathers and zombie mothers to roll and smoke for the night.
She’s turning around in circles in grocery stores
Picking up food-stamp broccoli and sliced cheese in Harlem,
Going everywhere with sleep in her eyes and
wondering how others manage to exist.
but who is a killer from the start supposed to be?

In the context of today's supernatural energy,
The brains in which I inhale are forever spinning.
I bought my eyes from the black market
and cannot see clearly anymore.

Saint Hildegard lived in yesterday's supernatural
with purchased Germanic eyes of green and ivory...
as mine are.
She is the best friend that I have never known
and would never **** my vibe.

But all of the energies running around
are killing the vibe that races through my spine.
And I want to see life as a puppy does,
running and frolicking low to the ground...
digging up tennis *****.

You can count on me, though,
to see life as a the gangsta I'm not,
and not as the hound I so want to be.

But I'm neither gangster nor *****,
but only a Lupine plant leaving seeds to be eaten
by the breathers with brains who take all I have to offer.

And nobody calls me the lucky one,
but I know I could be if I had somebody else's organs.
And if I were to dance with you
I may call myself the lucky one,
but I settle for dancing for you
and I'm not lucky at all.

And I don't know how I'm at the end of the line
when there are no girls in front of me.
Can you tell that there are no girls in front of me?

This line goes on for miles,
and the stereo I listen to today's supernatural frequencies through
goes on for miles.

You're the dearest loving zombie I know,
so take me away in a helicopter
far away from the breathers and the bleeders.
And we'll be the only ones in the sky
and we'll walk about the clouds
and engage our supernatural ids
and create a make-believe empire.

But there are things to do outside the windows
and nothing can possibly be how I wish it to.

AT NIGHT WHEN I'M ASLEEP IN MY DREAMS I TRY TO SCREAM BUT NOTHING EVER COMES OUT. WHO AM I? WHO ARE YOU? I WANT TO KISS MY BEST FRIEND AND I WANT TO KISS A STRANGER AND I WANT TO KISS A MAN AS OLD AS MY FATHER. ALL TONGUE AND TEETH AND RAW AND *****; JUST KISS ME, I'M IRISH IS A SYNONYM FOR DRUNK.

Caged organs never sounded so beat
Bone marrow around the brass meat
I'm a toxic lover with love around my waist
And afraid of poisoning, as you taste waste
Cleaning toxins out of my sheets with chemicals.

(commercial break)

Ay-yeah-ya-yeah-yeah
Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-wa

Breathe me all the ways to stay away
Blood on bathroom tiles that run for miles like crimson Niles
Just stay

Ay-yeah-ya-yeah-yeah
Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-wa

(Okay, we're back.)

Coals in your cold coat holes
I know you're happy now
I hope you're warm with fingers intertwined
within the future in your ribcage
feel your organs to know you're alive
your heartbeats beat because of a stolen car.
I feel-

(change the station)

Drive me, my baby. I'll turn you out in time. Don't you recognize
you're the only thing I want in sight. I could change your-

(change the station)

You're the one for me. You are my-

(change the station)

I hope you like it like you love it when you should like it because you love it without liking it with loving it within loving and without loving with love and without like because liking is love and love is liking what is liked to be loved within and without. Here's God with the weather.

(change the station)

Green and cotton, that's a lovely chair, I could make love from over there
without a percocet. Un-un-un-un.
Touch the eyes that boil within; you find me nice but I'm not applicable
because I'm a lonely boy without a dog.
And I,
am
God.
And I,
am
God. Nod.

Sugar sweet, silver sweep,
I could touch you in familiar places in unfamiliar ways
I get lost in the boulevard of a sweatshirt
And I,
am
without.
And I,
am
without. Route.

Mhm, that's not a smile,
that's a thirty-foot crocodile
waiting to take a chunk outta my heart.
Art-Art-Art-Art-Art?
******* in separate dreams with the same meaning,
blood boiling in coffee pots and soldiers
without a cover.
Tame me like a child in uniform, from the universe.
Cake drugs like it's an icecream cone. Jesus loves you.
**** in another room
to feel the same.
**** in another mindset
to feel sane. Train.

I'm not a river of veins suffocated by milk skin,
to be without a busted lip is to be kissing without pain.
And to be your God
is to be ******* insane. ******* in a bathub.

Mhm,
you're a painting within a crooked house
inside a straight housewife's flamboyant blouse.
You're sippin' on God and Orange Julius
without a straw.

Ripping out red ribbon rays from rayon replays of a river in ruin
really what did you expect to do with that sort of information
I could cancer caulk chalk with every other walk
to seal your home without home inflammation.

Jesus on a candle clock, with a nail in each hand of the hour
I feel nothing but sugar shame when I sail past his shower.
And I,
am
without remorse.
And I,
am
without remorse. Force.

Candy-coated ***** candidly corroding colored coats into capes
callously creating cowardice,
can you be more?

I have a way to remove myself from great events
and a way to sell lies wrapped up in honest packages.
To be without and which way would you run with me
if I were not a twenty-three
in your eyes,
meteorological decline.

And the winds
carry
me home.
And your eyes
carry
me home.
And your lips
carry
me home.
And your hands
carry
me home.
Home again.

(change the station)

Bone marrow
in my back
touch me, I wanna feel
Give it up
Give it up
I want to make love in love
I want to die and donate
a part of myself
my backbone, lack thereof

(change the station)

Tie a noose around a highschool grad
attach to a college rule to rule how to think the same
because a couple of IDs and free games
help you understand how you understand how you understand
how you understand how you understand how you understand

Dreams.

Whoops.

****.

Two twenty-three inside a church for me because God doesn't have
a responsible doorman, just an abused son and a plot-hole plan.

(change station)

Save the opera for the quiet drinks
I wanna think, I wanna think

(change station)

Sonic tendencies
suicidal sound
My heart is left in a bone,
bone marrow
I'm a broken calcium stick
surrounded by health
I waste away
Waste away for you
Oooh,
I love.

I tried to stay my overstay.

(change the station)

Bronze your lips, I want to kiss you green.
Wait. I could be the best.
Don't walk too far because it feels like walking away.

(change the station)

Super fast
in the past

Time goes by so fast!!
Here and now are our moments to cherish for
Eternity! We have the chance to make a change, the

Kids won't be alright if we don't do something now.
In these precious moments of childhood, innocence, and  
Diversity, we have a chance to
Show the kids that they can make

A* difference and change the world for the better.
Right now, there are many kids who are "lost" and feeling
"Empty". They don't have anyone, but we  
Need to show them that  
They're not alone!

All these kids are our *FUTURE!
Love and caring,
Really caring, showing them that together we can be one.
In our culture, there's still so much hate
Going around that our kids will grow up
Hating people based on their skin, who they love, and so on.
Together; here and now, we can change that!!

*The Kids Will Be Okay

We waded knee deep in the puddles
of vacant lots when the flood filled
our gutters to the brim.

When the rain died down and the water pulled
itself from the streets we watched the rainbow
of oil swirl around our ankles,

walked the wooden footbridge that broke
apart under the weight of our feet,
the water-logged wood rot

splitting while rusted nails slid
out of place. We followed the streams
back to the plaza, back to fake IDs

and the ash-stained tobacco shop.
We found ourselves under flickering
lights, leaning against the rusted

siding of the family market, faces hidden
in a mask of smoke. We got lost
in the electric hum of the laundromat's cyclic drone.

They paved over it all -- covered freckled
skin with cloth and hot tar,
crushed vacant houses like hollow skulls,

ignited neon lights and street lamps,
strip malls and drugs stores
that burn holes into old hiding places.

They still try to sift through shattered glass,
silence the hiss of the popped bike tire,
wipe away the blood flower that blooms

from my scabbed knee.

i've been in a prison of my own making...
it's kinda perfect, i get to read books
rather than watch television...
the blind flamethrower albino ******
is on the stats -
i end the night with a self-gratifying
exercise - the main sub article concerns
itself with **** and male *******...
never mind the ***** cut off for ******...
and never mind the Madonna-***** complex...
why, the problem is sorted:
if you don't get a hard-on with prostitutes
then you can blame it on ****...
otherwise? well, you'll hardly be the one to blame...
i see you using your ******.... the blue diamonds...
the litmus test is quicker done...
go to a brothel... once you get an *******
with a ******* all forms of feminism prescribing
masochism to men will disappear...
this erectile dysfunction will become a hoax...
it will become basis for the other thing
Freud is famous for, putting it nicely
the the Medusa-Madonna complex...
you can't be Oedipal with economic stresses...
someone has to take the blame...
******* is one strand of attitudes exercised...
we will have no Mozart, no Shakespeare when
we censor **** and bargain hunting celibates...
you basically censored the freedom of language
like you did undermining the European Union,
and European doctors giving way to an exodus
due to your cheap xenophobia...
X-factor contestants as doctors? i'll gladly wait and see,
you congest life into suffering akin to animals
in slaughterhouses... boy, i'll wait.
your Vermin will be your death angels... you'll
want to die, you'll be gagging for death when i'm
through... and yes, i remember my great-grandmother,
who remembered the 2nd world war...
as i said: ****** was gassed... due repayment of equal
measure... the Ypres guise of suburban Warsaw in
the trenches, in the ghetto; harsh, isn't it?
humanising something human when the soldiery
artefact is brought up? it must be harsh...
too much faith in the Luftwaffe, i'd dig under the channel
and let the Panzers roll in... this is my method
of appetising grievances to be rid off...
my grandfather asked SS-men for candy,
my great grandmother escaped the Nazis...
this is a healing process... i've taken the *******
and applied it to the star of David, ******* with it...
so it looks like reading a book on a prayer mat...
but that's not the bothersome triad -
people forget the success of Freud in the other department,
you can't pinpoint the influence of *******
without having to recognise the influence of
the Madonna-***** complex -
which would explain much more than scapegoat ****
is privileged by... why would i get an *******,
drunk (well yeah, at every opportunity a ******,
Virgos' tear) with prostitutes, and not be bothered
by *******... abstinence won't help...
it's enough to be governed by a psychiatric conundrum
of the fabled case of ******* your mother...
why all the blame on man? typical feminism...
Platonic feminism, Darwinism's feminism -
have they bothered to subscribe to the idea that it's not
simply a male affair? having professional pornographers
is the problem... a bit like at the Olympics...
the professional high jumpers are one thing...
you jumping into bed to frolic is another...
it's hardly a mono-****** affair ascribed to only one
gentrification - when you're a ******* decathlon
enthusiast, *******, working, cooking, raising the ids
of kids... you're supposed to be there,
specialised in the erectile business, and nothing more...
the hammer to a nail... redundancy following suit.
and what man will succumb to this?
perhaps he's talking Swahili or he's Somalian...
because, believe me, that's where you'r herding the flock
girl... i don't really care where the whites end up...
this Islamic attack on western culture is nothing,
nothing, compared to the apathy western women
implanted into western men's psyche...
a few terrorist attacks are nothing in comparison...
as said the once parallel now intersecting
conversation between King Solomon and Sheba...
these terrorist attacks are nothing compared to what's
coming... i blame Darwinism partly for having staged
a coup d'vie, meaning? i really can't be bothered!
usurp my indolence in the affairs of mind and body,
make me into your ideal dietary requirement checklist...
this thing we're experiencing is worse than
terrorism... feminism has made us indolent,
non-responsive... non-competitive...
we're basically trapped in a hamster wheel where
women fancied themselves to champion ethnic defence
strategies.... ruby ***** of all hues go round...
i was never a saint, but i wanted to be a sinner...
try that like winning the lottery...
if the white man dies, i won't even care to cry...
i'd be clapping... clap clap... clap clap...
i'll just know that i left the ideal hue of ***** behind;
what?! i liked to **** too! but obviously i
was given the poker hand of angling a repertoire
akin to a monk like Martin Luther.

JUST SAY YOU LOVE!!!

Love is a feeling,
that excites your heart,
With no tension,
fear all that you have.

You fall in love with someone whose
inner soul is pure,
Without actually looking its external appearance
That’s for sure.

Attraction is not love
but a crush,
Which everyone feels more than once
Which ends like a bubbles burst.

Somewhere someone is made for you,
Only time is required for you to move.

Love is a special spice and colour of life,
That takes you to ninth cloud of height.

True love, only once you find,
So, love who ids sweet, gentle and kind.

Love never hurts you nor betrays you,
But always remain in bad & happy moments beside you.

Whom you love more, your expectation rises from them,
But never forget that they do wish the same.

For some…
Love is pain,
Love is Cain.

Love is respect
Love is suspect.

Love is devotion,
Love is possession.

Love is deep affection,
Or just a ****** relation.

Never regret falling in love,

Because you never choose love,
Love chooses you…

Just flow with the tune of love,
Just say you love…

Did I ever ride one of these casino busses?
That's how I met my wife.

Is this weird enough?
seven measured spans of ten plus some,
this bit, this collection of second chances,
in how many?
in ever,
how many spans of tens have passed, without me?
or,
without the star stuff Sagan says  
I am made of?

or I am made? I was.

That's the measure of my worth,

nay, I say.
Rue the day I told that lie

shall be my epitath, should I leave without
a-counting
them there ex
acted, mockinbird killin' days and ways we was

when we was
never governed, as a people, or a tribe.
as ids,
we was wild injuns, us kids was. we did as we pleased.

life was fine,
livin' by the river, you can imagine a cloud

occlusion of green greasewood smoke
softening a barely waking moon
four thumbs high at sundown

keeping fairy tales down low enough
that grandpas
can snag

-- and release and come back jack, right here
--to this dangling hook

and it's always gonna be this way

catch and release,

life's story your story goes on.
You never lose your place,

that's mortally impossible
to pose a

quandry
quandary (n.)"state of perplexity," 1570s, of unknown origin, perhaps a quasi-Latinism based on Latin quando"when? at what time?; at the time that, inasmuch," pronominal adverb of time, related to qui"who" (from PIE root *kwo-, stem of relative and interrogative pronouns). Originally accented on the second syllable.

pronomial adverb, eh?
Writers were warned away from adverbs,
back when grammar tyranny strained
at knots and gnostic gnats magi-ifical
add-on augmented at your own risc

made you notice
tech times change faster than Timex

Sinclair-- sorry, senility function was left on from earlier missions

Force-recon recollected war stories being moved permanently into fish story status before
legend adds a layer
of gloryshit
at funerals.

Reduced Instruction Set Chip, chip
chipping is
addiction diction
A.I. *** us a whole Yah bus win, it's
Free Play day at the Ol' Folk Home.

We sing old songs on the way to Viejas and
laugh about all we left in Vegas.

When things were good, they were
weightless.
We could stumble down the streets
at four in the morning,
wearing hickeys like tattoos
we'd be ashamed of at dawn.
Sneaking wristbands from friends
with fake IDs,
or faker ****.
And if we were low on cash,
we might take turns
lifting our shirts, shifting our bras,
until a flash of something sacred
earned a free drink.
I could have been
ashamed
if gravity were working.
But we were all
weightless.
Mistakes just floated away.

Our dresses were too short, and
our dresses were too tight, and
the boys wore shirts
that were good at hiding stains.
Sometimes we didn't even need words;
we could walk into
a smokey, sticky bar
and fall in love with a boy's arms
while he fell in love
with a too-short dress
and the chance to see underneath it.
And we knew
we'd be waking up
with those hickey-tattoos.
But we didn't care, because
we were all
weightless.
The boys just floated away.

Maybe we wouldn't find any
dance-floor-love,
but that was always okay, because
we were in love
with ourselves.
Our hazy heads
whispered pretty words,
and as we burned our throats
with shots of pure love,
pretty words began to slur
into a pretty song, but we could
never remember the melody
when we awoke.
So the next night
we'd shimmy into our too-tight dresses
and start ******* down
more liquid love
until we began hearing
that pretty song again.
We half-knew our sober hearts
would never be able to recall
the tune,
but it never mattered.
We were all
weightless.
Notes just floated away.

These nights, things are
heavier.
I'll pour myself some love,
but it burns like regret now.
I don't wear any too-tight dresses
because I don't much miss
the dance floor.
I don't miss the hickeys
or the four A.M. walks.
I don't miss the shirts
being lifted and pulled.
I don't miss the smoke
flooding the bars.
But I do miss the song
that I'll never quite know.
For though I am grounded,
that tune is forever
weightless,
and the notes will just float away.

it’s not nearly as romantic as you’d thought; watching the world burn
having it crumble under the weight of your gaze
          but here we are, the lucky ones beneath the gallows,
                                and we’ve got front row seats to the end of
    the earth itself.
this acrid, unbreathable smoke is in my
        eyes and
        ears and
        lungs and  slowly pumping through my
        blood
                     can you taste this desperation when we kiss?
    am i the only one who feels this
           sitting on cinders like it’s the hood of my car
  and wishing we could see through the haze?
i’ll miss the noise, the feel of
    cities rushing
    two-lane highways brushing along my
                 well-worn and weary tires
and you’ll miss none of it, none at all
                                                 because you’re dead
                               and you’re difficult and he’s wearing your face but
it doesn’t matter. none of it does.
  kiss me again to drown out the screams. i want another
          shot at life, but it won’t happen now:
    another car, another motel,
another rushed fumble out of our borrowed ties and IDs and lives
                  but all i’ve got is you and your coffee’s getting cold.
                          you’re not him but i can pretend with my
                      eyes shut -
                                         just don’t leave me with the wreckage.
you are my morningstar
                                 and i’m haunting you with life.

We're stood on a blacked out highway going to who knows where. A floodlight shines on a group of workmen in road, slow. A passive aggressive sign says "Slow, My Daddy works in here". Gaz, Frank and Jim are gathered under the floodlight.

"That ****** lads dad never worked ere! That's bosses lad!"

"Mmmm..."

"Anyway, what's this hole for do you reckon? Gas? Telephone? Electric? Dead bodies? Haha!"

"Hope not"

"Hopeless more like! Why ARE we digging it anyway?"

"We? I'm digging! You're just talking ****!"

"******* Frank! What about owd Jim over there? Old ****** never does owt!"

"Grunt"

"Leave Jim alone! He's seen it all and done it all a million times! Poor guy must be knackered! If I still have to work at his age I'll ope you young uns gi mi some ****** respect!"

"Respect?! *******! Who's getting respect ere?! Not me! I'm in the middle of nowhere at night digging an ole in a highway for god knows what reason!"

"Look, Gaz, 'oles need to be dug. It's not our job to fill em. We just dig em up!"

"Yeah, but don't you wonder why? Like, we seem to be diggin up constantly! Same ****** area of the same ****** highway! Dunt anyone plan it oot so thi can do it all in one go?! Water, cables, all of it?! Its like we're makin work for t sake on it!"

"At least you've got ****** work! There used to be 20 odd of us on this stretch o road. Are you gonna dig or what?"

"Keep yer air on frank! I'll ****** dig, but I'm only doin it for you!"

"Well ****** me! I'm honoured! Shut up n dig will ya?"

Scrape, heave, scrape, heave

Sigh

Scrape, heave, scrape...

"Yer know what else...?"

"Oh, for ***** sake!! What?!?"

"These shovels are ****!"

"You're ****!"

"Nah mate! Look, handles are loose and shovel bit's weak as ****! If you lift too much thi just bend! It's like thi want us to ave to work twice as ard for t same bleeding job!"

"Well there's no worry o that wi you is there?! You lift ****** all!"

"Whatever..."

Heave, scrape, heave, scrape, heave ... crack!!!

"Told you!"

"Shut up smart ****!"

"Don't ya get it though?! We're nowt t them lot! Thi just use us n **** on us! Wi dunt even kno' where this place is do we? We just get a lamp post number and go! Where does this ****** highway go?!"

"Look, I don't give a ****! I just want to dig this 'ole then go ome and watch some TV and maybe get a **** before bed! There's a ****** sign over there anyway..."

Sign reads "He..."
The rest of the sign is broken away, probably hit by a car.

"Jim. Jim?! Jim!! ******* I think Jim's dea..."

"Consarnid!! Thundering eejit!! I int banna be deed, tha ****** loony! I wor banna geet some shuteye! Tha lod banging on abaat ****** why thar ****** shovlin *****?! Carnt tha led an owd bloke sleep?!!!"

"Sorry Jim. Just worried mi for a minute there. Are ta alreet?"

"Nah am nod! I wo avin a reet dree-um befoore tha wakened us! Megan ****** Fox wor sat o mi fay-us!"

In unison - "Hahaha! Tha owd dog Jim!!"

"Sorry Jim, It's Gaz, e's got more questions than a ****** 3 year owd!"

"Shut up ya miserable get!
Why do you reckon we're diggin this ole Jim? You've been doin it a long time."

"Aye... I wor yer wen thi started fixint roo-uds. It wo differnt then. Thi gi'd us reet too-uls n ad t reet ideas. Thi jus wanid us to dig reet. Bud thi dint like us knowin moo-ur than them lod! S thi gid us ****** all n wi started wokin unner leets i t deark. Nah ****** con see us then. Thas askin t rong quetsion lad! Ids nod why aar wi diggin t oil! It's why aar wi doin id int deark?!"

"Why are wi Jim?"

"Because we're expe...."

Beeeeeeeeeeeeep!!!!
Thud!!!
Vrooooommm!!!

"Oy!!!! ******!!!!"

"Es dead Frank! What the ****, What the ****, What the ****?!"

"What?!? Jim?!! Did tha get 'is number?"

"What the ****, What the ****, What the ****?!"

"Gaz!!"

"What the ****, What the ****, What the ****?!"

"**** Gaz, yer reet! ****** this **** I'm not diggin any more! I'm off ome!"

"F..f...fr.... FranFrank?"

"What Gaz? That were ****** up Gaz!! Jims dead!"

"B..b....bu... bury J..J..J..Jim"

"Gaz, tha'll ave t do it tharself, I can't dig anymore. Sorry. Im calling t ambulance n goin ome. You should too! Bye Gaz. Good luck."

"B..b....by... bye J..J..J..Jim..."

Scrape, heave, scrape, heave, scrape, heave

Slow. My Daddy works in he...

These pale little fingers
Are lavishly decorated:

Dried clay soil
Around and under jagged stubby nails
A pink crescent-moon scar
On the third one's second knuckle,
India Ink dried in drips and streaks
Deep whorl prints
Like no others- snowflakes, IDs

And slow to heal,
Painful to the touch,
These omnipresent little slashes,
Paper Cuts.

Fairy tales are how girls get to sleep
Girls who sleep sweetly next to siblings; best friends' pictures scattered about the room
their world is safe and full of love

But I have no prince, no siblings, no daily phone calls, no pictures, no best friends, no sweet dreams.
What does that leave me?

     I stop to give a homeless man a taco and to ask him about life, love, healing, karma.
Frosty says I should stop by again sometime.
I smile

     The teal green hat I bought in Japan makes me look silly;
I put it on, grin at the girl in the mirror and play with the fuzzy ***** attached to the ear strings.

     Today I look up from my tv series to watch Madeleine in her favorite Madeline shirt, chatting with her friend while casually dusting our food storage.

     The cute girl who swipes IDs manages an awkward conversation upon my every re-entry to the caf --
Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked her sexuality for no apparent reason, or pretended to ***** in the dish room.

     My mother once broke her nose doing a pushup

     Upward facing dog.

This’ll do.

There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object that he look'd upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him of the day, a part of the day
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.

Climbing trees became a part of this child,
And playing catch, splashing in puddles, racing bikes down the block,
And tormenting neighbor kids,
And the falling down and the scraping of knees
Became a part of this child.
Nap time, time outs, smelling thyme and rosemary and lavender,
Digging through the crisp verdant garden
All became a part of this child.
Boy Scouts, dinosaur hunting, star searching, pencil drawing,
Became a part of him.

His own parents,
Reading aloud, arranging play dates, preparing snacks,
Supplying toys only to be forgotten about
for a stick or perhaps a box.
Mother off working, leaving by dawn, returning for dinner
And father, strict, the warden, always teaching responsibility,
Both becoming part of this child.
Vacations and swimming and visiting the grandparent and getting spoiled
Going to the zoo and seeing so many terrifying and exciting creatures.
His parents, always feeding and inspiring imagination
Becoming a part of him.

Walking to middle school became a part of him.
Lockers, combinations, IDs, pungent locker rooms, the labyrinth of halls
crowded and loud
The anticipation for lunch, the sweet sound of the three o'clock bell
The flurry toward the doors all became a part of him.
Pushups and crunches and laps and blown whistles
Loving every moment of the cool fresh air
Newfound freedom, licenses, cars, jobs
This responsibility became a part of him.
Plucking, scratching, squeaking, struggling, playing
Sounds of an unproven orchestra growing together,
All became a part of this boy.

Surviving the first day freshman year
So small, so young, so innocent
Growing, maturing, learning, all became a part of him.
School dances and football games and musicals and stress
Cool clay carefully sculpted, melodic rhythms played in tune, rubber ***** quickly dodged
AP class after AP class, notebook after notebook filled meticulously
New friendships formed, old friendships strengthened.
All this became a part of this child.
These became a part of that child who went forth every day
And who now goes, and will always go forth every day.

Back to the beginning
And back to the start. Let's
Change our future and raise our
Kids right!

Time to stop robbing banks and
Others; stop being racist, sexist, or whatever

Everyone--STOP! We are the same,
All on the inside. Doesn't
Really matter the color, ***, who we love- we are all
The same-human beings-mammals-
H**ope that helps-if not, we are like M&Ms; *fighting over your favorite color only to realize they're all chocolate on the inside.

They call me, kids, the Kool-Aid Man
    Because I mix it well;
And when I mix the Kool-Aid, man,
    It hits you hard as hell!

The trip's a scream; it's rotten; it's mean;—
    It casts an evil spell;—
It's a fast, full-throttled, steep careen
    Into the bowls of hell!

And only heroes can drink it, kids,
    So, pour it down; it's swell
For erasing egos, erasing ids,
    And making heroes as well!

O.O

Since when did lighting our lungs on fire and vomiting up our youth become fun.
When did cigarettes and *** become a carnal desire
and **** and ******* a symbol of pure lust.
How is grinding on some sweaty unshaved guy *****.
When did fake ids become the one thing we have on our Christmas list
memorizing the identity of another so we can lose ourselves in stale beer and cheap *****.
When did ***** songs about ******* become the theme song of passionate love.

When did losing yourself become the game of fun.

I have been there
I have been lost
but unlike the rest of adolescent adults,
I do not desire it.

Everyone wants to grow up too fast.
act too old for their own souls.
be provocative and disgusting to show that you know what it all means
to show that you can do it too.
Good for them.

It's September 2013.
A Coronal Mass Ejection scorched the Earth,
collapsing the Global infrastructure.
Those that weren't fried up in the killshot
traverse a world nearly foreign to them,
devoid of any form of luxury.
They make their ways to the FEMA camps,
setup all over the United States,
because that's what their TVs told them to do,
just days before the blast.
But they knew since the Remote Viewing program began in the Cold War.
A teenage boy,
now forced to be a man,
leads his Mother through the terrain,
avoiding building fires and roving gangs.
Finally they arrive,
the camp like a shimmering oasis
in the burned out barrens.
They stand in line at the gates,
poor and huddled masses.
When it is their turn,
they present the IDs they were informed to bring.
"Sorry son, your name's on the list,
you can't get in."
"What do you mean? What list."
"The list of people who didn't know how to keep their mouths shut on facebook.
So, you're out, but your Mom can come in."
Another guard approaches and squires her in at gunpoint.
"No, I won't go, not without my Son!"
To which the guard interjects
"Shut the **** up..
take your clothes off..
we're going to pour powdered sugar on you."
"Noooo! Mahhhhhhhm."
"We're gonna **** your Mom kid." the gatekeeper laughs.
*Insert Whale sound

You are the blaring alarm,
the cold whisper of fan blades
the first thing I feel
a reminder of the life we're borrowing.

You are the black pen,
the IDs swinging on navy sling
the very last thing I think of
before leaving.

You are the three-pages homework
of five classes
that I would cram in the morning.
You are the two hours sleep,
inside the cab,
that I indulge every evening.

You are the second one
on my Sudoku puzzle,
the scientific calculator
for my course on accounting.
You are the seemingly non-existent hole
of the silver needle,
you are the one I'll always be missing.

And throughout the day
of embodied lies,
savored smiles,
breath-taking laughs,
agonizing hollowness,
you would creep in--
fill me.

You are all that I see,
everything else fades into the background.

It's the same every time
Waking up in a panic
The hangover's dull
Gradual throbbing
The amplification of existence's malaise
Reducing my feet
To a slow shuffle

My girlfriend has been calling it the same way
For six years
"You'll get up and check your wallet and make sure you have your keys"
And I do
She's beautiful because she's right
She's also gorgeous
But continually right

I get up and slip my fingers into the
Many compartments of my wallet
Making sure I feel the greasy
Cold plastic of the credit cards

The three IDs
One to drive a car
One to carry a gun
One to count as a person

And the flood of relief I feel
When I finger these plastic cards
Is alarming
How my mind jumps from jovial
Drunken thoughts
To hard
Plastic ones
In the midst of sleep
At ungodly hours of the morning

My identity personified
In polyurethane rectangles

I get back into bed
And again
After confirming that all
The clasps that keep the mask
Snug to my face
Are still there

I embrace her warmth
Under the thin comforter
She drapes her leg across me
While I kiss her forehead
"You smell like liquor"
Before browning out again

Energy games these days.
Synergy claims.
Learn to relay, signals
Impounding on my ears.

Listen closely my dear.
It's all in here. There's just
Nothing to fear.
Tear fully, submit consciously,
Celebrate the oath of life.
Taste the flavors of the Earth.

She is here for us. And all.
And everything.

Questioning may continue
For a short time more.
My desire to know for sure,
Though will out soar,
Will implode the weak,
Low vibrations, Til they barely dim.

Peace is within, the faithful
Chant. I now sing this hymn
My heart has the beat,
And when I watch,
My mind finds the keys,
The steps, the recipe.

Faith is only the beginning...
I must be my best me.
Perfection is reality, no need to strive.
Standing up, Notice the toes on my feet,
Just being me. As I have no other
Choice.
Releasing IDs,
Sculpting energy,
Creating,

Written in one shot.*
Word association:
Father?
*******.
Mystery?
***.
Love?
Overrated.
My psychologist
once taught me how to steal cable.
It's one of those life lessons
that I carry with me, y'know?
Like how some people
keep fortune cookie fortunes
in their wallets
next to their IDs
and pictures of their kids.
You find those kinds of things
all over the place,
littered in gutters
and streetcorners all across
the globe,
but when you're downtrodden
knowing how to say
"Where is the nearest bathroom?"
in Japanese
isn't really worth ****.
I'll start gaining weight
here pretty quick.
Fat Michael
is not a myth,
and I hate him.
"Write a poem?"
Christ,
I can't even
write my own name
anymore.

i still think
                                           that literature's       "      "
is better assumed as
     mathematics'                             ~
or what's simply abbreviated
                                    ambiguity, sort of,
as apologetics for Heidegger is concerned -
     that there is moral ambiguity in the interpretation
  of Dasein as ecstasis about, e.g. the war in Syria:
    but is that a self-serving ecstasis for the fact per se
    or that other interpretation for concern, which
with the above mentioned notation is a lack of,
       as in for peace to resume as common sense
      and less of what's suitable away from the apathetic
route, and indeed the ecstasis to shout for forced peace
            rather than see it all as without your moral
judgement with you being no moral agent in the matters
     that themselves have to resolve, without your input.
- and it always comes like this, cute little things,
or how you can condense all the theories surrounding
the psychological trinity into superego,
or that verse by Philip Larkin
        that begins wonderfully:
they ******* up, your mum and dad
  (this be the verse) -
  and the two other bits and bobs,
the Gemini scalpels -
       depending on how you wish
to make incisions into thought (or
any other moral quality, for that matter) -
do you wish to be a surgeon,
your own man as it were, and with the ego
cut your own story?
        or perhaps you'd prefer a butcher
psychiatrist lob pork chops of you
    with his depersonalising id?
         after all, he will say:
the laws of the state demands you have
so sort of i.d. (identification credential);
only the rich, a Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany
could ever fit the programme of Herr Doktor,
         Ode Odi Oedipus            Olé!
Herr... auto-****** means i have enough
******* on my ******* that
a gentle rub of the ******* gets me all
hot & bothered and juiced up?
   after all, the maidens of Egypt have
to have theirs cut and endure docile mantras
of why, why, why.
    and please, Herr Doktor, when
will Latin actually die? they keep saying
Latin is dead, familiarly like Nietzsche's god
is dead... but Latin isn't remotely dead,
  the blimmin' alphabet is still here,
how do i know? well, d'uh, i'm using it...
you say id             i say es
   you say ego               i say self
(then you make a Frasier joke about elves)
       and we go on and on in
this cat               mouse              game,
it's all a matter of fashion,
      they all said the above Mr. N was a
great stylist, after all an aesthetician is,
   and now they blabber on as if talking
Gucci pooch'e - this is dead, that is dead,
it's a fashion industry: but less obvious,
more inclined in       what you talk about
than what        you wear.
             said,
   '            ', he said
     "        ", he thought he said,
                                 or the narrator said it for him,
                         or the narrator thought he said it
for him, when in fact he didn't say anything
    nor the fact that there was anyone to actually
  say anything at all -
                 kinda a Beckett Watt moment.
           the Watt waltz, and that truly is a mind
   ******; as i sometimes wish narration was
kept in the Irish / Polish standard of notation
- and off we went to the poll booths.
- aye, and we vetoed rather than voted.
who would have thought that two ****-heads would
make the unlikely politicised duo of escapees.
             akin to Ulysses - but i get the
picture, the hyphenated compound words not
yet approved to be actual compounds,
        cite the Oxford committee for doing
****** paperwork, or none at all to modernise
  the Anglo-Smackson.
      ****... in the real world this could be
called pimping - but here... mm hmm:
peacock exfoliation - and i know it, so it's less
smarty and cared about: just... done.
yes, it usually starts rigid, that bit about
    Latin not being dead is extremely rigid
in composition - it's a sore the size of a ****-steak
   on my forehead -
            as is my lack of desperate attempts
to applaud Delmore Schwartz attempt to bring
    Finnegans Wake (the pearl in the crown
of all things difficult) to the people and the swine...
            so he didn't think Ulysses was
difficult enough? jeeze! and this alone reads like
a modern aversion to how young people are
drawn into mutilating themselves -
                  rampant ids             less acknowledged
Larkin moments in discussion:
        or perhaps the opera of suburban happy-go-happy-do?
       kids without even the foggiest of
the lysergic acid of Hanna-Barbera
                        and the Loons -
                                the fun-go-to lunacies of
cartoon network 20th century 90s...
                                       and hell: when we actually
        lived in times of toy story toys;
                 these days i'm getting the impression
a girl is probably going to play with a ***** than
   a barbie - must be the pink and the blonde
                         matched by the how many? jokes
    in mouth as in look doppio standards of not getting it;
but of course, the many other stereotypes.
            well, us kids, back then,
                          ah...         nothing like that coming again.
       summary... in ref. to the title,
   it's next days shrapnel from the debauchery of
the previous night, or why i write drunk and sometimes
get lucky sobering up and do not indulge in the bottle
      and not write something, and end up not writing
something like William Styron's Darkness Visible,
    who also drank, but didn't write and drink,
                  drank on the sobering up note, like
this poem. well, i figured, if i don't exploit the drinking
       as a sedative unwinding and be bashful
then, resolutely, the sobering up me is still making
  that blood wine:
                          and never did liquidating
   two kilograms of caster sugar in half a litre of water
             feel like handling mercury.

We light matches till sunrise
And drop acid on swingsets
Forgetting who we are
Till the cops come
And ask us for our IDs

Menu pata ki tuci menu
Hamesha gakt samjna he
Aj tak bi ta galt hi samjea he
Te age bi galt samjna
Bus thuahnu ehi lagda ki tuci sahi te me galt
Me shyd u di expectations te khara na utrea howa

But ik gal he jina me u nu oyar kita kade kisi nu nai kita

But me apne aap nu hor hurt nai kr sakda
Metho eh pain seh nai hunda
Te me is cheez cho bahar niklna chanda
Aj to no sad song
Na hi thuhadi profile dekhni
Na hi purania emails padnia

Me aj tak apni email id delete nai c kiti, noonelikeme  wali
But aj oh bi delete kr deni
Me apni purania conversation read nai krna chanda

Bus heena jjad tuci move on ** sakde
Ta me bi ** jana
Me apnia ids actiavte kr laiya
Te whatapp bi chAla lea

Me *** thoda ksuh hona he

Bye heena ji
Will miss u till my last breath

The night was washed out in a errie blue grey. The moon made the beat for me a bit less anxious.. This part of the city aint never been kind. Taking a long drag from a stale ciggarette i thought about the dective boss man introduced me too at the bar. A Robert Cobalt. A steely dispostion and eyes that cut through in a way that didnt make total sense. He told me about a  lead. Riches and adventure await if I'd just put aside some morals and go with it he said. Diamonds.. Always been attracted to the worthless things, theyre just rocks but I bet a fist full of em.would make any man feel like a god. The light turned green and I wondered what would make a man get all twisted up and go after such a thing. Turning a corner towards 8th street I looked out my passanger window and saw something not too out of the ordinary on this side, a man approaching a women, knife in hand and a gait that meant bussiness. I turned on my lights and told the sunnuvabitch to stop where he was, guess the man was desperate cause he ran full force towards the women, after her bag id guess. Reflex and training set in and i went through the motions, the whole time thinking theres no way i could be fast enough to stop this. What i sae next surprised the hell outta me. Calm as could be, right before the man got to her and right as i was stepping out of the car she threw an elbow right into the mans chest. He doubled over, caught of guard by the heavy blow. She grabbed the back of his head by his hair pulled him up straight and flat laid him out with a well placed blow to the jaw. Subsequenctially my jaw hit the floor. I walked towards her slowly, the threat neutralized. She stood calmly and lit her self a smoke. She told me her name was Tessa. Tessa rosiere. A privite invistagator. I guess i looked more shaken than she did as she offered me a ciggarette. I stood there for maybe a bit too long without saying anything and the man started to groan and stir. I asked what she was doing out here this late already knowing the answer. Following a lead she says.. Before i can ask more theres a bright flash a strange smell and a dull pain. I look down and my stomachs leaking blood. Cant remember much after that. No idea who had shot me but waking up in the hospital on the east end was surprise. Still alive i guess. The sterile scent of the room made me feel like.running and the sight of all the tubes sent my heart faster than it needed to be. Shot in gut. Either by tessa or by that ***.. Maybe even some one else who knows. Still alive though.. Oddly the tgought of diamons crept into my scattered brain. The idea seemed more than appealing now.  No more late beats in a bad part of town. No more getting shot,  no more having to work. Just a fist full of diamonds and the freedom.to do as i wanted. My last groggy thought as the flourecnest lights blurred was of Cobalt.. I'd find the *******. And see what he had to say
.sleep took me like a riptide.

It wasn't long after when I got out of the hospital. The doctor gave me all kinds of prescriptions but I knew the only medicine i needed was waiting for me in a smokey room full of tired souls. A double on the rocks. I walked into the run down pub and the smell of cigars and whiskey welcomed me like a hug from my father. Only not as warm. "Double on the rocks. Keep me comin til I leave." I said. Muddy Waters was painting the whole place blue. "That's not gonna help you heal, jewels.." A voice said behind me. I turned around and it was special agent Heller and her trainee Agent Ronen. They had sweet faces but you'd be a lucky man to not be on their bad side. Heller blew smoke in my face with a smile. I guess that's as close as I'll get to a "welcome back". We sat and talked for a while while Ronen looked at her phone. She wasn't into conversation much. Once we were all sure we had one too many, we were ready to call it a night until Ronen got a call. "****. Don't pack it in just yet." Heller scoffed "I'll be ****** if I'm gonna go wipe some rookies nose this late at night." Ronen looked at her boss sternly. "You're gonna wanna see with one. It's not rookie this time. Murphy Pendleton just kicked the door in on a **** lab on 92nd street". Pendleton. That crazy *******. Hearing his name ****** me off. "You guys can go handle that ******* on your own. I'm not..." "No. You're coming. I saw your badge and Gun. You might as well be on the clock Jewels. Let's get down there before he scares off the camera crews again. It's gonna be a long night." Heller said putting out her cigarette in my drink. She was right. No one ever wants to walk in on a crime scene if Pendleton is involved. Chief Cobalts been after that ******* badge for years. But ******* does he get the job done. Tip the bartender, grab the coats. Time to see what fresh hell was waiting for us. Before we left, I put Tom Waits on the jukebox...

I don't even hear the sirens anymore. We all got in Hellers squad car and headed to the crime scene. I see the lights flashing from the roof of the car. But the sirens might as well be the sound of a car passing or a telephone ringing. When you hear something everyday, it just fades away. Heller and Ronen sat up front and I was in the back. I had forgotten how cramped it was back there. It took me back to when I was a stupid kid. Back when I was afraid of those same lights and same sirens. Back when i still saw people passing by, not just potential criminals. We pulled up to the crime scene and the press was everywhere. The whole front of the building was taped off. "Well at least there aren't any bodies in the street this time. Looks like Pendleton could be getting soft on us." I saw Ronen let a smile slip across her face. I couldn't help but laugh. We all know Pendleton's rep. I guess you gotta have a dark sense of humor for this ****. One of the rookies I liked was holding the line. "Ventus. What are we looking at?" I asked while lighting up a cig. Ventus looked down at her feet. "It's not good. He really just......it's not good." She said in a tired low tone. Heller put a hand on her shoulder. "Go home Tera. We can handle this. Jewels. You go on ahead with Ronen." Heller said. We walked under the tape and towards the scene. The door to the small shop was handing off the hinges. Bullet holes in the glass. Blood on the floor. The red trail led us to the back room. One. Two. Three. Four. Four dead bodies. Blood on the walls. And in the cleaning supply closet on the back wall off this moldy dreary **** lab sat Pendleton on a over turned bucket. He still had his pistol in his hand. "Ronen. I'm gonna..." I started. "Psh. You don't gotta tell me twice." She said before exiting back to the front of the store. A shoe shop with a **** lab in the back. That's a new one. I started towards Pendleton. It was hardly a graceful entrance on account of having to dance around dead bodies. About 3 feet from Pendleton is where I noticed, the man wasn't shaking. He was just sitting. "Pendleton. What the **** are you doing? What happened here?" I barked. "Got a lead on this lab and came to investigate. As soon as they saw me, the pulled their guns. I didn't wanna get left out so I pulled mine. The 2 up front ran to the back. Caught the tall one in the shoulder. Reloaded and came back here. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom." He said. Calm and collected. "There's only 2 guns on the floor. The other two, why are they dead?" I asked. "**** Jewels. Maybe after I dropped the two with guns, the other 2 picked them up. Maybe I did what I had to. And maybe I'm not in the mood for all YOUR ****** QUESTIONS." He yelled looking up at me. His teeth showing like a mad dog. His gun was still in his hand. "Get your **** together Pendleton. This isn't the time or place for your ****. And put your ****** gun up. The cameras are right outside." I said quietly. Pendleton was a loose canon. And I made it known I hated his guts. But hey, you can't choose who you work with. "What's the matter with you? Normally you woulda left by now. Why are you sticking around for this one?" I asked looking around the room. Pendleton reached in his pocket and pulled something out. "I pulled the IDs on all these guys." He said handing me for drivers licenses. "Jacob Wrens, Joseph Brown, Tanner Wilcocks and David........Cobalt..." I read to myself. I darted my eyes at him. His face was dead. His eyes were grey. "Murphy.....are you telling me......one of these kids is the chiefs son?" I said slowly. He looked down at the floor, opened his mouth and said ".....was"

as i and my red pen,
climb and clamber,
about in the latest,
offerings,
of inked thoughts
and dead trees.

i think of,
junglegym minds
and elegant phrasings.
of eagle eyed ids
and nuanced persuasions.

i think of,
 words and worlds, aged
and then discovered
and since and again, interpreted anew.

and i wonder ......
mr shakespeare,
if you lived today.

what would be,
your world view?

The son of Jung, Achilles

(This is after and during a second or third time through
Jung, by Anthony Stevens, via Hoopla brought to me by LAPL)

libraries with online audiobooks,
isn't that closer to perfect? Imagine
knowing CG Jung's dad was Achilles Jung,
epic, knowing that
back when only real, material-real, rich folk,

(they could not have known, but we can, on a smart phone)

of any sort of the many there were in the co-fusion's aftermath

much of the world may agree with things once hidden in tomes
being eaten by mindless worms, now

no known thing is secret, by right

truth makes free and it's a system.

dynamic
free true free true free

We ident-ify it or id

what ever I and d


these ids (letter i and letter d as a pre
fix identifying us, u'n'me but only I am re-alified,
set to iseate

(is-e-ate is individuation for an idea, this or that, which may be verbalized
prior to re-alization)

t' be for a while, as long as you wish, t'
be fixed ideas in the minds of all

minds culturally touched
by this particular
point of
been
as
in been there done that.

Time is nothing at all
like mortals think
ing no no nothing is re

alone is rare. For us, my pieces of the unum,

we are here as ever.
ever is our role.

guides are made
however, we have noticed a scarcity of read writers
aware of pin points of light expanding

on the walls of his nursery window, nur turer, real mmmmm

screen
really must we be limited forever is ly lying as in

acting positive while being negative and being

entangled
in your self for ever, never for now,

you don't know how.

do you?
ex
per
ienced, per se, are ye?

be yond. yes. be

yond. practice makes perfect, bact to the top

erie canalic real

tote that veil, hide that barge
camptown lasies sang some songs

wrong, as did the ******* minstrels
and gamblers and bedroll
cowboys and hobos
and plain bums,
like us.

You were curious. Does yellow mean anything
to you?
Murrillo, with y's for ll, maybe? ¿ se?

--- un told stories ---

none remain, in re al ity, if we agree

nothing is ever impossible, even
for sapiens sapiens, how much
more, the us in the unum

previously pluribus,
scatter-brained,
that is.
id est, at its best. Muse.

Homeostatic balance,
hot to cool, cold to warm

round and round
twisted in the middle
by Van Allen's belt, or Orion's?

I never asked. I could,
right now I COULD WISH SO BAD THA I'D

not notice allcaps from the teenage wasteland,
(mea culpa, I bury all my misses there, take one, free)
as I,
the grown up number two, I mean,
I was saying I could stop this flow, interefer, dam it

I could ask Google and follow ath
the real thing either real or
otherwise, yet

wise, still.

How well will we be? Should we not

agree, un agree disperse the mob?

become a one, with a mind
we may share, at will,

reason, count, measure, make, see, seek how, find how, learn how

now,
why are you a ware of me while I am
ware of you.

An unread, unspoken spell. What the hell, right?
What the chaos, entropy, dis
integrate
wash away, mud to dust to twisting spirtis seen dancing

dust, this highest part of the dust of the earth,
time will tell, the physician must heal himself.

---
the art of letting things
haps
hap
pen, pen or ready-writer mode,
we can do this, but we must

be leaving the ality re all o'this reality.

And it has been fun, un done
fun is never the final goal.

be yond that. Search okeh. It was
intentended in tension-ality

to be the key we
as u me mist

when we
lied about being
experienced in the comunicito, (wee ity bity)
do you know of
the transfiguration, I was asked that

southside of Sunset at Laurel Canyon, by
that TV kung fu cowboy guy's dad,
Carradine, the old man,
from scary movies,
circa 1960.

that was fun. it happened. nobody noticed,
but me and the elder Carradine.

Real, as best as my memory just
ifies me right there,
that day, there
is where

this point was proven to be
memorable, a point
of a pin, 'pon whose head
merry messengers make nothing of
darkness, shadow, thin light.

Member be, re member
we see you saw
re all ity-ness is fun, if you find time to do it.

Typical assumptions of a man born in his time
and so
cial class. Social, is that a joke?

Follow me, don't be ignorant of a fine refined use,
right use of ordinariable words which have
born the burden of the ages

patiently, awaiting meaning,
on your scale,
the me as sure of the other in the unem,
the measure of a man, any
old man, still standing

under all the knowing Eve ever knows,
hope and time and all this took.
The price of knowing,
is the knowing, learning is easy

At home by right of being, we are such
beings, in a word, two if you reason there is
measurable ratio twixt
iiii in and am out, yamiyam ah yeh

we do. Allatimenolie, my will. The inside
the numinosity of being

me and you in the midst of all we may imagine real,

no, hell, yesses, hell is still a joke you never want to play.
ax Mr. Boo, he was my guide in Bangkok

read the reports, they are more,
nevermind, let's not let the

lie live here. the the right man thinking this thought
at this time, right

Each magi's knowing is the only knowing he can share,
without playing I pious fraud and naming it
legion, re
legion ligated to ob la dee and dah?

Joke, jest, foolish jest. Not my best but better'n
never imagi-ing  bein' good at all.
Good for nothing but
being possible
ly
good to the sense-if-ative troglodytes

with one lit window on reality. It's funny. POV. Seriously

lighten up
you putin me

beyond your grasp… winsome, alas